Time Of Your Life
by Crossover-Forever
Summary: All of your life, art was forbiddened in your city, DYSTOPIA. But through a turn of events, you find a book that explains 'graffiti'. Ever since then, your life has never been the same. Jake's POV in second person. Written because this fandom needs more fanfics. Hopefully a one-shot. Rated T for cussing.


**Time Of Your Life**

Summary: All of your life, art was forbiddened in your city, DYSTOPIA. But through a turn of events, you find a book that explains 'graffiti'. Ever since then, your life has never been the same. Jake's POV in second person. Written because this fandom needs more fanfics. Hopefully a one-shot.

XuX

Cameras were at every corner, even the ones in the slums. Tall, muscular guards sat atop skyscrapers, shooting anyone who dares to glance at them. You kept your head down, and sqeezed your jacket tighter around you.

You were Jakob, or Jake, an adolescent, and you were hurrying home. Your mother, when you were a child, was shot and killed when officials found her painting. The government of DYSTOPIA didn't allow any kind of art. They said 'It was bad for you, encouraged bad behaviors, and would ultamitely cause self destruction.' You knew it was bull sh-t, but you were too afraid to do anything about. That's DYSTOPIA for you.

You sighed, and walked faster. You saw your home just down the block. _Don't look up_, you reminded yourself. You opened the door, and quickly stepped inside. Your dad had fell asleep in the easy chair and was snoring. Beer cans scattered about him. You heard the shuffling of feet, and the slam of the screen door that lead to your scraggly backyard.

All of the blood drained from your face. Were you robbed?

You rushed into the kitchen. The cabinets were old, and one of the little doors were barely hanging on its hinges. Nothing seemed out of place. You and your father had very little money, so why would anyone steal from them? Not to mention, the DYSTOPIA punishment for any crime, no matter how small, was Death.

You scanned the room once more, just to make sure, when your heart almost stops. Whoever broke in wasn't _stealing_ anything. It's more like they were trying to _frame_ you.

Laying, clear as day, on the kitchen table, was a book. Books that were't approved by DYSTOPIA were to be burned. This book didn't have the sickly sweet pink cover of approval.

_Don't touch it_, you told yourself. But then, a miracle happened. You heard your mother's voice.

_"Don't be afraid, Jake. Go ahead and read."_

You nodded, and reached a shaky hand out towards it. _GRAFFITI 101_ was the title. You opened the thick paper back book, and a thin, torn piece of paper fell out.

_I want my book back! Meet me at the Western train yard in a month. That's July 2nd. DON'T FORGET! -T_

What the-? So someone gave you this book not to get you in trouble with DYSTOPIA, but just so you could read it? You shook your head, and continued reading. The pages felt frail in your fingers, and the pages were slightly yellowed from age. Still, the photographs of the paint on buildings, trains, and others things were bright and sharp.

You finished reading, and left it in your lap. Never before in your life have you wanted to draw or paint so badly! Art wasn't going to make us self destruct! Art would set us free! At least, vandalism will.

You couldn't wait until July 2nd now! Not only did you want to meet the mystery person, but you also wanted to try out this 'graffiti' for yourself.

Just then, you dad's girlfriend's kid, Samuel, or King, walked in. He immediately saw the book in your hands. "Whazat?" he asked in his usually babyish tone.

"Oh? T-this?" You stutter, "It's nothing. Now scram."

"If it's nothing, why can't I see it?" he asked. King toyed with an edge of his 'cape', which was really an old plaid blanket. The girlfriend had dumped him here while she went out for some drug deal. He really had no where to call home. You were an older brother to him.

"B-because!" You yelled, "Now, get out of here!" King flinched, and scurried away to where ever it was he hid. You sighed. You didn't mean to be mean to the kid. It's just that you didn't want him to find out. DYSTOPIA would kill you if they knew you had a book. Especially a book about art.

You couldn't pay attention at the year-round school DYSTOPIA forces you to go to. The grouchy old teacher always asked you the difficult questions, and scolded him when you couldn't get it right. _Who cares about physics?_ You thought as the day ended, and was glad to return to your retched home.

Well, that was before you had to run into Brody.

"Well, look-y here, boys," he taunted, "We got the Drunk's kid over here." Brody and his lackeys were all from posh, rich families who worked with the officials of DYSTOPIA. They were the ones who carried out the executions. Although it wasn't the best job ever, it was the one that paid the most. DYSTOPIA got a ton of workers that way.

You ignored them, and hurried home. After you passed into the 'dirty' part of town, they usually left you alone.

Usually.

"I'm to amazing to walk into the slums. Right, boys?" The small crowd nodded and agreed. "Well, then, I suppose you guys will have no problem passing then? Find out where the bastard lives." Brody then continued to walk back to his parents' loft.

_Shit! _You thought, _I can't show them home! _But then an idea crossed your mind. You grinned like a Cheshire cat and just ran.

The lackeys gasped and chased after. No one could match your speed. You eventually lost them. You haven't felt this adventure... this _freedom_ in years! You grinned stupidly, probably topping the Cheshire cat. But through your midst of liberty, you had to stop. You almost ran into a moving train.

_Great. I'm exactly where I want to be, _You thought.

The train was small and red, and it passed by quickly. You carefully walked in the train yard. It was like a maze. But, despite your efforts, you got lost. Trains were in every direction you could see. You just kept walking. You quickly grew impatient and frustrated. You were about to shout from anger, but then you spotted her.

Along a long, parked train was a stream of graffiti. At the end, there was a girl, about your age, spray painting the last car. There were swirls and explosions of color all along the train, and big letters that say 'DESTROY DYSTOPIA' and 'LET'S BLOW UP DYSTOPIA' and 'DYSTOPIA MUST DIE'. If you and the girl were caught, you'd go through something worse than death.

The girl smiled, and continued to spray paint. The spray can emptied, and the turned to retrieve another one from a black duffel bag. As she turned, she saw you. The girl just kept smiling, and held a finger to her lips. You stayed quiet as you watch her. She was wearing a red-orange beanie cap. Her hair was blonde, and tied into two pigtails. She wore a white tank top and baggy pants.

The girl finished her graffiti. In the corner, she signed, 'TRICKY' in big, orange-red letters. "Hey, where's my book?" she said suddenly. Her voice was soft and easy on the ears, and it was then that you thought she was a perfect hipster angel.

"What?" Through your daydreaming, you only heard her voice, not what she said.

"My book," she continued, "The one I left on your table."

You blinked. Finally, realization hit you. "Oohh! _That_ book!" you replied, "I still have it at home. I'm supposed to give it to you in July, right?"

"True 'dat," she nodded, "I'm Tricky, by the way." She held out a hand. It had some purple paint on it.

"Jake," You said, shaking her hand, "Listen, it's getting late. Can you show me the way out?"

She laughed. Tricky's smile never wavered. "Why do you want to leave? You haven't even gotten a taste of it yet," she explained. Tricky handed the spray can to you, and tapped the train to your right. "Try it. You'll feel better."

Your hands were shaking. If you do this, and get caught, you'll _die_. DYSTOPIA will kill you and your family and anybody who knows you dead. But, then you remembered your mother, and how DYSTOPIA killed her for her art. You tightened your grip on the spray can, and pressed the nozzle. A stream of orange-red paint splashed onto the side of the train. You spelled out in big bubble letters:

'ART'

You smile when you're done. To defy DYSTOPIA meant Death, but this felt great. You may not be able to start a rebellion, but you can spread a little hope with vandalism.

You and Tricky heard the shuffling a feet, and a few mumbled swear words. A small dog carried on, and that just caused whoever was coming to curse more. Tricky gathered the cans in the duffel bag, and winked at you. "When he sees you," she whispered, "Run. I know you an do it." She winked at you again, and a heavy security guard come to view.

"Hey, you!" he shouted, and started off after them. Tricky dashed off, and you didn't have to be reminded twice. You followed after her. She jumped and ducked over and under signs. You followed, last second movements saving your life. She then ran straight towards a train. Before you could think, _She's going to Die_, she ducked out of the way. You followed still. She then climbed up some old boards so she was on top of a parked train.

You followed, but tripped. Tricky stopped. "Get out of here!" She shouted. Tricky then distracted the security guards, taking a sharp U-turn and jumping over the dog. The guard went after her, and you were left for yourself.

You were surprised they weren't any cameras around here. Now that you noticed, there wasn't any cameras in the train yard, and there weren't any skyscraper snipers, either. You had to ditch the spray can, or else DYSTOPIA outside of the train yard will get suspicious. You chucked it back into the train yard. There was a loud _crack_ and an even louder "Oww."

You decided to investigate. You turned the corner just to find someone you didn't quite want to see.

King was surrounding by spray cans, one of which was orange-red. "King!" You shouted at him.

"H-huh?" King was on the verge of tears, "J-J-J-Jake?" His fake cardboard crown was on the ground, and there was a small bump on the side of his head.

You walked over, and picked up the crown. "King, why are you here? Don't you know it's dangerous?" You asked, placing the crown on King's head.

"Y-Yeah," He choked out, "But I found the book and the note... and I thought I would try."

You shook his head. "Please don't do this anymore," You said, "Or, at least tell me when you're gonna do this, okay?"

He nodded. This was the first time you looked at the graffiti. It spelled out 'I AM KING' in big, bright blue and lime green letters. "You're doing pretty good," You commented, "but it's time to go home now." King nodded. You and King walk home, everything well now.

Ever since that day, you've known you wouldn't be the same. You were now an artist, and vandal, and you went behind the rules of DYSTOPIA. But that was okay. A fire started inside of you, a fire that just happens to involve graffiti. You would get revenge by painting. And DYSTOPIA couldn't stop you.

**A/N- This was actually fun to write! This is the first time I've ever tried a Dystopia writing, so I hope I didn't mess up too badly! Anyway, this fandom really needs more fanfics. =.= This is pathetic. WRITE MOAR SUBWAY SURFER!**


End file.
